


Kneel

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adultery, Dom/sub Undertones, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Facials, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kneel," says Sam, quietly, and Dean does, drops to the dirty motel carpet like his legs have forgotten how to work. And it’s wrong, it’s wrong, because this isn’t his his brother - this isn’t Sammy, this is just some hollow copy that’s wearing his brother’s face, but doesn’t care. Doesn’t know him like Sammy does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kneel

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt re: soulless!Sam domming Dean or Gabriel. This is another disturbing one because, y'know, soulless!Sam. Just be careful.

"Kneel," says Sam, quietly, and Dean does, drops to the dirty motel carpet like his legs have forgotten how to work. And it’s wrong, it’s  _wrong_ , because this isn’t his his brother - this isn’t Sammy, this is just some hollow copy that’s wearing his brother’s face, but doesn’t  _care_. Doesn’t know him like Sammy does.

It’s like he’s dropping to his knees for a stranger, and it should disgust him, should make him feel sick - but instead, something hot and tight and thrilled curls tight in his stomach and makes his cock stir.

"Good boy," purrs Sam, and there’s amusement in his voice, nothing gentle or genuine like there would be in Sammy’s. It’s harsh, mocking, and Dean fucking  _loves_  it, even while his mind screams a loop of  _betrayal betrayal betrayal,_ loves knowing that this Sam has no limits, no humanity to hold him back - this Sam could fuck him til he’s screaming, whip him til he bleeds, shove him against the sheets and hold his head down and just  _take_  him, choke him and use him and abuse him.

It scares him a little, both how easy it would be for Sam to do that, and how excited the thought of Sam doing that makes him.

And then there’s a hand fisted in his hair, pulling until his scalp aches, and a cock being pressed against his lips. “Open,” order Sam, and he sounds lazy, bored, like he couldn’t care less that it’s his biological brother on the floor in front of him. Like Dean’s mouth is just another hole for him to fuck, just another way for him to get off, and if Dean doesn’t open his mouth he’ll just leave him there on the floor and go find someone else more willing to spread their legs and take him instead.

Dean opens his mouth.

Sam wastes no time pushing inside, not bothering to take it slow, shoving in with a greedy push until Dean’s mouth is split open around the thick meat of his cock, sliding down his big brother’s throat until Dean’s nose is pressed against the tangles of hair curling at the base of Sam’s cock, choking around the length in his throat and fighting back his gag reflex. Groaning happily, Sam closes his eyes and begins rocking back and forth, slow drag of his shaft across the rough warmth of Dean’s tongue, never quite pulling out far enough to let the man on his knees in front of him breathe. It’s only when Dean starts choking properly, thrashing in Sam’s hold hard enough that hair starts coming out in strands and clumps, cheeks turning red, that Sam lets go, lets Dean slide off of him completely and hack up saliva and precome onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Tutting, Sam shakes his head, fisting his cock almost absently and reaching for Dean’s hair again with his other hand. “I can see I’ve got a lot of work to do with you,” he murmurs, almost thoughtfully, letting go of his cock to slap Dean with a hand damp with Dean’s own spit. Dean takes it with just the slightest twitch, cock throbbing in his pants, pressing hard and needy against the zip of his jeans through his boxers. He shouldn’t like this,  _shouldn’t_ , but he does - he can’t get enough of it, of Sam’s absent cruelty, of the fact that he’s letting a man he barely knows fuck his mouth and use him as he pleases. “You’re an eager little slut, but you’ve got no technique.” He pets Dean’s head with his thumb, a gesture that would be tender if the skin around the roots of Dean’s hair wasn’t burning from all the abuse it’s been taking.

"Lesson number one," says Sam, yanking Dean’s head up and admiring the red handprint already growing on his cheek. "How to take my cock properly." This time, Dean manages to drag in a hasty breath before Sam’s dick is pushing down his throat again in long, greedy shoves, the skin of it soft and fragile in his mouth. He curls his lips around and under his teeth hurriedly, terrified to scrape the cock dragging in and out even a little bit - although part of him wonders, wonders if Sam would hit him for it, shout at him, stripe his ass with his belt and then flog his cock and balls too until they were painful and swollen, until he couldn’t masturbate for the next week because of the pain.

He groans around Sam’s cock at the thought, reaches down to rub his palm against the aching bulge in his jeans, and Sam slaps him again, harder. “Greedy bitches don’t get to come,” he warns, digging the nail of his thumb into the corner of Dean’s mouth until he cries out, gagging on a particularly hard thrust, clawing at Sam’s denim-covered thighs as tears spring to his eyes and his lungs burn with the need for more oxygen.

Sam listens to his brother’s helpless mewls with a certain satisfaction, groans and thrusts harder when the convulsions of Dean’s throat around the length of his cock sends pleasure shooting up his spine in waves, leaving him hungry for more. He should pull out, he really should, should let the poor slut breathe… but he’s close, so close, just a little more, and the feeling of Dean slowly choking on his cock, like he’s fucking the life out of his pretty, arrogant big brother, is so utterly delicious there are no words to describe it.

When Dean’s eyes start rolling up into his head, nails dug like claws into Sam’s jeans, tears streaming down his face as he bangs his open palm helplessly against his little brother’s solid, immovable thigh, Sam pulls out. The final, rattling convulsion of Dean’s throat around him as he pulls back, releasing Dean’s hair and watching his brother slump gasping and coughing to the floor, is enough to tip him over the edge, hand around his cock to angle it down. His come stripes across Dean’s face, in his hair, into his wide-open mouth. Some of it probably goes down his throat, from the way he starts hacking afresh, rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself up onto hands and knees as he drools uselessly onto the carpet and fights for breath.

"Good boy," he says again, reaching down to fondle Dean’s hair when the bitch has got his breath back a little, before shoving him face down into the carpet, just because he can. It smears the come across Dean’s face even further, and when Dean manages to raise his head again, it’s dragged in sticky streaks across his face, clumped in his eyebrows and those ridiculously long eyelashes. "I’m going out," he announces, eyes tracing the open line of his brother’s bruised and swollen lips, the bloody nail-dent at the corner of it. "Don’t wait up."

He waits for Dean to respond, for some kind of smart-ass comment, even for Dean to shout at him about what he’s just done - but he just gets a resigned nod and a low gasp as Dean lets his head fall back against the carpet, eyes falling closed and tongue peeking out to run over his lips.

There’s silence for a few moments, and then the sound of the motel door slamming shut echoes mutely through the room. Even after that, it takes a few moments for Dean to force himself to move.

When he does, it’s only to roll over onto his side and carry on breathing in heaving gasps through his bruised and wrecked throat, head swimming with thoughts - with memories of how it felt to have Sam’s dick shoved deep down his throat, how it felt to choke around the hot and blood-heavy flesh, with the knowledge that even now his brother is probably out in a bar somewhere picking up a girl or guy to fuck because Dean wasn’t enough for him, because Dean couldn’t satisfy him, because Dean’s just a worthless fucktoy for him to use when he can’t be bothered to find something better.

He’s fairly sure there’s something wrong with him, something broken deep inside, because the idea of Sam being out there and shoving his dick into some other person’s hole - the idea of Dean being  _cuckolded_ , ridiculous as that sounds, because Sam’s not his wife, they’re not married, there’s no official commitment between them - makes the arousal between his legs suddenly unbearably urgent.

Dean jerks himself off lying on the filthy motel carpet, face striped with his brother’s come, hand rough and desperate against his cock, and he comes harder than he’s ever come before.


End file.
